Writing the Final Chapter
by klytaemnestra
Summary: ‘I’m tired of you, Valentine. So it’s time for you to sleep.’ (HojoxVincent)


Author: Beautifully Twisted

Email: EnigmaticAngst@aol.com

Rating: R

Title: Writing the Final Chapter

Pairing: HojoxVincent (non-con)

Summary: 'I'm tired of you, Valentine. So it's time for you to sleep.'

Notes: I would like to thank _Interview with the Vampire_ for inspiring me to write this little fic. Without Lestat's evilness, this would have never been conceived. Also, much love and thanks to Domo, Finding Beauty, SeasonofthePumpkin, and Renee' of hojo.org.

He had done nothing but sob since he had awakened, so cold, so alone, hopelessly broken. The last of his humanity had been stripped away, and now he was truly what Hojo had continuously assured him he was. A monster.

The demon Hojo had given him had taken whatever was left within him that had belonged to Lucrecia. What was it all worth now? He had lost her, he had lost his life, his freedom, and now he had lost his humanity.

Curled on the floor, he sobbed. He could still feel the phantom pain of the wings as they ripped from his shoulders, tearing away his flesh. He hadn't believed such pain had existed. Of course, there were a lot of different pains he had learned from Hojo. Some pains were a tiny as the smallest pinch and others would tear violently, and shred apart sanity. It didn't matter now. Nothing did. After all, what right did he have to feel anything but pain? None. He was a demon now and demons were supposed to suffer. He was supposed to suffer. But that didn't change the fact that he remembered happiness –though clouded and vague, he still remembered a time before this. Before he had been condemned to Hell.

And as the tears fell, he could see himself as he once was. Not entirely content with his life, and certainly not happy, but he had everything anyone would need to live. More than most would ever have, and still he had desired more. He had seen beyond his current lifestyle and had dreamt of a future with a woman to love and a place to live where they could watch the sea, and perhaps eventually raise a family. But that had been selfish hadn't it? He had all one needed to survive without want, but he had craved the love of another. Such a base need, and yet it was the one thing that he had been denied. The simplest thing in life was the one thing he was damned to exist forever without. And perhaps he did deserve this fate for no other reason than he had not been content with the lonely lifestyle of cocktail parties and nightlife; he hadn't been content with the penthouse ShinRa had given him. He had seen the emptiness of it all, because there was no future in what he had been given. There was no comfort to be found in it, because it was all materialistic. He hadn't wanted much, but now he knew that it was selfish to have asked. 

Women had adored him, and had sought out his company. He known this, and had avoided their advances. But he had wanted her. Why? He wasn't sure of that himself. Only that he had loved her, and admired her, and needed her because she was so beautiful, so intelligent, so perfect. Perhaps its foundations were based in lust, but he had loved her. He had died for her. He had suffered for her, and now … he was broken, lost, destroyed, and Hojo laughed, even as he laughed now.

He had been watching Vincent for some time now, observing his reactions upon awakening from the demon's rampage. Vincent had killed that night, only the blood had not willingly been spilt by his hands. Instead, talons had ripped tender flesh, and mauled the helpless being, but the demon held no remorse for his actions, and therefore Vincent was burdened with even more guilt. So he had sobbed, in grief for the lost life, but mostly because of his own destroyed humanity. Two souls had died that night, only one would never find peace in death.

Usually Hojo found the cries satisfying, however tonight they offended him. He was tiring of Vincent, for he no longer resisted. He was utterly broken now, and though Hojo had initially desired that, it now made things seem rather dull. Vincent did nothing but sleep and cry now. Hojo often wondered if Vincent even remembered why the tears came so easily. 

Kneeling beside Vincent, he stroked his hand through he dark hair, the strands now fell in torrents over his shoulders from two years of growth. Hojo found the hair suited Vincent now, so pale, so androgynous. He looked like some forlorn antihero from a Gothic novella. He laughed at the sentiment, finding the irony of it all. The hailed Turk, now a broken specimen. His heart shattered by love, and the finality of gunfire. It was time to write the final chapter.

He kissed Vincent softly, almost affectionately as he murmured a soft, 'It'll be over soon.'

Vincent merely continued sobbing softly.

'Yes, it's time to put you away, Valentine.' He stroked his hand down Vincent's cheek.

Confusion warring in his eyes, he continued to stare, as though trying to grasp the meaning of those words. Put him away, where? What did he mean? Vincent's thoughts were hazy as he searched for Hojo's intent. Hojo merely petted him, before hoisting him upright.

Vincent gasped in surprise, and instinctively resisted. What was he doing?

'Shh … Valentine. Come now, there's no need to resist. I won't harm you.'

Such lies. Hojo had done nothing but harm and brutalize him in one way or another. And now to say such things ... He just wanted to be alone, free of Hojo's incessant prying. He didn't want the pain or humiliation of being raped again, he didn't want to find himself on his knees like a filthy slut, he was so tired of having his body abused. 'Shh ... come along.' Hojo murmured, once again touching that cheek. He recoiled from Hojo's touch, an action which only reaffirmed Hojo's desire to touch him, claim him, destroy him once more.

'Yes, it's time to retire you.' With that, he proceeded to lead Vincent from this place, only to have him protest.

'Stop your struggling. Shouldn't you have learned by now that no matter what you might wish, I will do as I see fit.'

'Hojo ... please.'

'Your pleas have become tiresome. As have you.'

A tear slipped from Vincent's eye, whether from relief or just from abuse neither was sure, but it was enough to drive Hojo's patience over the edge, and he grabbed Vincent by the shoulders and slammed him into the nearby wall.

'Spare me the tears, Valentine. I care little for them now.'

He was so disgusted with what Vincent had become. He had wanted to break this man, and make him crawl, but it had become tiresome. The way he cried now, the way he simply took everything Hojo gave him, almost as though he might find salvation through such abuse.

Vincent only cried harder, causing Hojo to lash out and strike him. Blood trickled from his split lip, and a moment later Hojo was on him, kissing that abused mouth, drinking the essence of life. 'You fucking martyr. Do you think she loves you? Do you think she'll forgive you now?' He demanded softly, 'Answer me.'

'Hojo ...'

'Answer the question, Valentine. Do you think that all this will make you a saint in her eyes? Because if it's salvation you're looking for, you've been bowing before the wrong god.' At this he forced Vincent to his knees. 'Those sweet lips have been praying to the wrong god.'

'Hojo ... please ...'

'Stop your whining, and put that mouth to good use. Snivelling fool.' He unbuckled his belt, and waited.

Vincent faltered. Despite how conditioned he had become to the abuse, he found this repulsive.

'I'm not a patient man, Valentine.'

Quickly working Hojo's erection from the confines of his pants, Vincent leaned forward and hesitantly took him into his mouth. And though the tears continued, he did his best to work up a pace in effort to pleasure him as quickly as possible. But Hojo would have none of it, as he curled his fingers in Vincent's hair, taking hold of his head, slowing his rhythm. 

It was so degrading, even now. After countless months of abuse he still dreaded this act. He wasn't sure which he loathed more, fucking or this. Fucking hurt more physically, but he could simply go limp and take it. He had to put an effort into this, and it sickened him. Where was his sanctity?

Hojo was trying his best not to moan, but God, the things Vincent did to him. Of course, it was to be expected after two years of captivity. So well trained. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, and so he began to brutally fuck Vincent's mouth until the familiar spasms overtook him and he released within that poor mouth. Vincent tried to pull away and rid himself of the vile substance, but Hojo only held his head harder, murmuring a damningly soft, 'Swallow it.'

He reluctantly did, and Hojo released him. Vincent fell limply to the floor and sobbed harder than before, only to be pulled to his feet once more.

 'Please ...God ... leave me be.'

'Up ... come on.'

'Please ...'

'Stop your struggling.'

'Please ... no ...' He sobbed as Hojo half dragged him from the library. His cries resonated as he was led into the darkened corridor. He dreaded the uncertainty of all this.

'Shh ... Valentine. Your cries won't be answered.' He assured him, before adding darkly, 'Not now, not ever.' With that, he introduced the man to his new home.

Vincent screamed. The dimly lit room was filled with coffins and the remnants of bones. He had once heard the basement predated the mansion itself by nearly three hundred years, and that a niche had housed the bodies of the previous owners ... and now to see this ... 'Why have you brought me here?' He demanded, choking back his screams.

'Shut up.' Hojo roughly shoved him inside. 'I'm tired of you, Valentine. So it's time for you to sleep.' He pushed Vincent forward, prodding him further within the crypt, before kicking off the lid to the central coffin.

What did all this mean? Yet somewhere he knew ... Hojo thought to bury him alive. Terror took hold of Vincent, as he stared into the satin lined casket. 

'Get in.'

'No ... please. For the love of God don't do this ...' Broken or not, instinct screamed for survival. But his pleas went unanswered, as Hojo tossed him into the coffin, forcing him down even he clawed frantically for escape. 'Please ... what of Lucrecia? Please let me go to her ... I can't leave her like this ... please ... please ...' His crimson eyes shown with tears and sheer desperation as Hojo smoothed his hair from them. 

'Goodnight, Vincent.' He pressed a final kiss to those beseeching lips, and slid the lid closed, shutting Vincent off from the world of the living.

Hojo perched atop the coffin, revelling in the cries. 'Shh ... it's your coffin, my love. Enjoy it.' He replied, patting the ebony surface, before whimsically adding, 'So few us of ever get to know what one feels like.'

Clawing against the satin, he kicked and screamed and begged to be let out, but the only answer he received was the distinct sound of nails being driven into the wood. He must have shrieked then, though he didn't remember doing so as he lay within his own dark little hell, waiting to die from lack of oxygen. He couldn't just die like this, not without knowing her fate. He refused to. He needed to protect her, needed to be there for her even if she did not return his love. But in the corner of his mind a voice spoke, dark and enticingly, accusing him of abandoning her and leaving her to fend for her own, of damning her child to a life of unspoken horrors. He cried against the voice, but soon could not distinguish it between that of his own thoughts. He was to blame, through all this. He was the one who had failed.

All his efforts were for naught, and he closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. Death, perhaps it was too good for him. Perhaps, he was already dead and this was all death was. Nothing changed ... nothing at all. The memories were still there, as was the horrific sense of lying imprisoned in eternal darkness, forever alone. Perhaps, death didn't want him, so great was his sin. It didn't matter, now. And as he drifted into slumber the demons laughed, twining his mind in darkness, corrupting his thoughts, creating a personal hell all of his own with nothing but memories to tear at him.

But Hojo had intended it this way. The demons were such a lovely touch he thought as he gathered up his belongings, intent on leaving this place forever. It held too many memories for him as well, and now with Vincent put away, he had nothing left here, nothing but a dirty little blot on his record. But he knew ... every great novel needed an epilogue.

- fin


End file.
